All World Hockey by T. Michael Travers

We've always wanted to visit Paris, France maybe for the same reasons as you. It's historically significant. Only 10 years ago, archeologists found human remains in Paris dating to 8,000 BC. Some say it's the art and fashion capital of the world, and it's earned the nickname City of Lights because, at one time, it had 50,000 gas street lights. Oh, ya, and they've got all that wine. We did our best to check as many of the must-dos off our list for the five days we were there. We had lots of tips from friends. Also, warnings of pickpockets and gypsies and rude waiters and areas of the city to stay away from. In reality, we never experienced a bad incident and the only rudeness we encountered was a city bus driver who didn't care for my pronunciation when asking for directions to the Louvre. On our final day, we decided to take the Metro (subway) to the airport. It sounded easy, safe, and efficient. However, when we left street level and descended the escalator to ...

Don't blow on the dice  ... don't throw dice with both hands  ... don't buy into the game  when the shooter is on a good roll  ... a 7 often appears after the shooter  has accidentally thrown one of the dice off the table  - watch out for stick-changes too ...  A 7- out often follows a stick change. There are lots of rules in the casino game of Craps.   Don't play unless you know the rules.  Most of the time, the rules are opposed to the way the game is depicted in movies.   If you've never played, don't start.  It's a game that can really beat you up and it has a difficult-to-learn vocabulary. As mentioned, I play a lot. Maybe too much.   But, I never speak to anyone at the craps table, ever.  I am not being discourteous or disrespectful or superstitious. I play hoping to be lucky enough to make some money. There's nothing social or sociable about craps. It's a very, very tough game. It's incredib...

You know the bells. You hear them on street corners and in front of grocery stores and liquor stores at this time of year. The bells are rung non-stop, always by a very cheery man or woman, and, as you pass, they always offer a God Bless You  to send you on your way. To explain about the bells, I have to tell you about my father.  He was 49 years old when I was born.  I was baby #10. In 1946, when I landed,  I may have been a surprise for him. I most definitely was a surprise for my mother.   My mother was a little Irish fire-cracker who was full to the brim with superstition. On a Great Lakes cruise with her as a pre-teen, I wandered up to the ship's top deck.   There were lots of seagulls overhead.  One took a big one... it landed in my ear.   My mother said, "That will bring you good luck for the rest of your life".  Her observation/superstition proved right, I met my Lorraine a short time later, and it's eas...

The Colonnade, Toronto An American TV icon  On a summer day in 1970-ish,  a colleague invited me to a unique lunch at a downtown Toronto restaurant.  The outside venue was called The Colonnade. It was an office/apartment/retail store building  with a restaurant on the 3rd floor  overlooking Toronto's busiest, toniest street. The restaurant featured a different, live entertainment performance every weekday while having lunch. There were  book readings, Shakespearean mini-play performances, and  lots of music. The master of ceremonies for these performances  which only attracted a maximum of about 50 people was Alex Trebek. Ya, that guy. At the time, he was a semi-popular CBC TV newsreader  CBC Radio announcer, and teen programming host.  It didn't seem to be out of character  for him to be hosting these luncheons. He hadn't become his Alex Trebek TV persona yet. A chicken salad sandwich,  Ch...

The Song ,  See You in September  was a 1950s Billboard hit by the  Tempos . It perfectly   summed up what I said to my friends  as my family got ready to pack the car for our summer vacation at   Woodland Beach  on southern Georgian Bay -- an hour and a half north of Toronto. Woodland was my go-to vacation spot. My mother was so determined to get the family out of the city, she'd rent a cottage each year, get my siblings, load up on groceries, and off we'd go. My father would drop everyone at the rented cottage, unload the car, leave, and wouldn't return until our rental was finished. As I may have indicated in previous stories, my father was a little different and most definitely not a cottage guy... "he'd wear a 3-piece suit to a picnic". Cottages in the 1950s weren't very well equipped -- outhouses and pots under the beds were common. Somehow, they worked. It was simply part of going to the cottage, and it was a great time to get togethe...